Random thoughts, poems, jottings, and as it says, musings. About anything and everything!

Sunday, 11 April 2010

The Clockwise Man

Gene machines, without a care,Making a metaphorical snare,Close eyes to all of importance,Meaning lost in happenstance;Pleasure of smelling a flower,Being drenched in April shower,Watching sunset upon the sea,Marvelling at the honey bee,Eating well-prepared meals;Reductionism takes, stealsAll that is: we will survive.Pity those who so contrive,Choose cunning as a way,Never taken in, they say,But blind to all of reality;A child on a mother's knee,Warm of fire burning bright,A universe of such insight,In which such love is kind,But clockwise man is blind,With microdot philosophy,He wills himself not to see;Small beauty with his doubt,What life in part is all about,These things made irrelevant,So he declares in mad rant,Boxing himself in all alone,To what he thinks is known;Four walls encased in white,To draw upon as he thinks right,His world, as he liked it be,Ending alone, in lunacy.